


pétale

by 951004



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Hanahaki Disease, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 14:18:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16243376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/951004/pseuds/951004
Summary: i lost myself again





	pétale

**Author's Note:**

> listen to billie eilish’s six feet under while reading,,

_roses were soonyoung’s favourite flowers._

 

there was nothing he loved more than welcoming their lenocinant scent into his lungs, holding their rich, crimson petals of velvet between the pads of his fingers.

 

nothing he loved more than the memory of a lavish bouquet of the reddest roses on their first date, accompanied by tantalising lips of the same colour that he felt so compelled to press against his own.

 

nothing he loved more than coming home after a long day to find a warm bath drawn, beside it a wineglass and a rose stolen from their front lawn, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips at the affectionate gesture that would never grow any less meaningful.

 

so it was only natural that he would wake up some mornings to a petal or two in the gap between his and his husband’s, thinking of them as nothing more than another of wonwoo’s little gifts.

 

* * *

 

_roses were soonyoung’s favourite flowers._

 

it was a regular thursday shift at the flower shop, and he was cheerfully assisting a chatty, energetic boy (who introduced himself as seungkwan the very moment he stepped through the doors) on purchasing flowers for his boyfriend.

 

they had been stationed at the rosaceae section for ten minutes, seungkwan keeping up idle chatter as he browsed. “red roses... how about red roses? what do they mean, exactly? i’m sure hansollie will like them, of course, since they’re from me, but— sir, are you okay?”

 

an insuppressible burn had bloomed in his diaphragm, spreading up his bronchi and through his larynx, a painful fluttering that caused him to feel as if he was about to burst at the seams. soonyoung stared incredulously at the scarlet petals that littered his trembling palms before slipping through the gaps between his delicate fingers.

 

red was wonwoo’s favourite colour.

 

“i’m fine,” soonyoung croaked, an obvious lie. he cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his hair. “don’t worry about me, now. where were we?”

 

seungkwan’s anxious expression lightened. “you were about to tell me the meaning of red roses.”

 

“right, those symbolise love and passion, and can also be given to people you have respect for,” soonyoung explains, blinking away the tears in his eyes that threatened to escape. “they’re a great choice for a situation like yours.”

 

seungkwan beamed, a light blush tainting his cheeks. “i’ll have those, then.”

 

“i’m sure he’ll love them,” soonyoung replied. he carefully ridded the roses of their thorns and wrapped their winding stems in brown paper, securing everything together with a red velvet ribbon. he handed seungkwan the bouquet, lips twitching as he recalled the one he had received from wonwoo five years ago. “i wish you the best with your boy.”

 

seungkwan left the store with ten roses and face-splitting grin that would have made soonyoung’s day, if not for the numerous thoughts plaguing his mind.

 

people were supposed to grow flowers in soil, not their lungs.

 

* * *

 

_roses were no longer soonyoung’s favourite flowers._

 

it took him four words, eleven letters, one question to come to this decision.

 

“do you love me?”

 

what should’ve been a simple question, with a simple answer crafted with nothing but fondness.

 

but what he heard in wonwoo’s voice was hesitation, something completely foreign to him through their five years together. “‘course i do, soonyoung-ah,” he breathed.

 

“i love you too, so incredibly much,” soonyoung whispered, a pained smile stretched over his lips, uncertainty lacing every syllable he uttered.

 

wonwoo hummed, oblivious, eyes never leaving the fluorescent television screen in front of him. barely five minutes later, soonyoung was forced to disentangle his fingers from his husband’s with a hasty excuse, dashing to the bathroom as an influx of petals forced their way out of his throat.

 

his vision was cloudy as he watched the flurry of red petals settle gently into the toilet, a contrast so stark to the unbearable ache burrowing deep into his chest. soonyoung crumbled within those tiled walls, finally allowing rivers of tears to flood down his flushed cheeks.

 

**A DAY PRIOR...**

 

_“i am aware that you are in denial, mr kwon, but the symptoms are clear as day. are you in a relationship?”_

 

_soonyoung’s fingers drummed against his kneecap. “yes, doctor, a very happy one.” the lie slipped past his lips so easily, so instinctively, that he barely had time to register it._

 

_“can you, in any way, relate the flower or its colour to yourself or your partner?”_

 

_soonyoung swallowed thickly, suddenly hyperaware of the accelerated beating of his heart in his ribcage. “roses are my favourite flowers, red is his favourite colour.”_

 

_the doctor nodded with a finality that had soonyoung once again holding back tears. “does he know?”_

 

_“no— i can’t tell him, no,” soonyoung replied quietly._

 

_the doctor adjusted his spectacles and heaved a sigh. “mr kwon, i would advise you to speak to him about this. he could either love you again, and you’ll cough up the entire flower, or we’ll have to remove it surgically.”_

 

_“surgery... and are there any implications of that?”_

 

_“unfortunately, the surgery will remove not only the flower, but any feelings that you may have for your partner.”_

 

_soonyoung was having difficulty breathing. he knew what was coming before it came._

 

_“and what if both of those aren’t possible, doctor?”_

 

_“the amount of petals you cough up will only increase, sir. you will be asphyxiated by them, and this could lead to your death.”_

 

_a pause. “thank you, doctor.”_

 

_“see you soon, mr kwon.”_

 

* * *

 

_soonyoung was growing tired of roses._

 

he could feel himself growing weaker and weaker with each passing day, feel the exhaustion rooting itself deep into his brittle bones, poisoning his bloodstream as he coughed up the petals of the flower he had once admired.

 

he was so, so tired.

 

to say he had never considered going under the knife if not simply to rid himself of the pain would be a blatant lie, but the precious moments he had shared with wonwoo through the years always convinced him otherwise. he couldn’t forget those, not even if he wanted to. soonyoung was running towards his demise with open arms, and there was nothing he could to prevent it.

 

he bitterly recalled his years in high school. he had always been called a hopeless romantic; never with malice, but enough to make him despise himself for it now as his unrequited love bloomed in the gaping cavity of his chest.

 

scientists say passion lasts two years at best. soonyoung never believed them, until wonwoo fell out of love.

 

until he started getting home an hour too late and leaving an hour too early, hanging out with his coworker jisoo too often. until he began showering soonyoung with gifts that were more expensive than thoughtful, gifts that were more an apology for his absence than an expression of endearment. until wonwoo had moved on.

 

* * *

 

 

_soonyoung detested roses._

 

he could go no farther than the constricting walls of his and wonwoo’s shared bedroom. “a chest cold” was what he’d say to anyone who bothered to ask. the petals had been coming more and more frequently and in increasing amounts. soonyoung couldn’t eat, couldn’t so much as stand without feeling faint and unstable.

 

it was a friday. wonwoo had brought jisoo home for dinner, and they had briefly dropped by to see soonyoung under the pretense of inquiring about his sickness.

 

“how are you feeling, soonyoung-ah?” wonwoo asked. jisoo stood by his side, studying soonyoung with what could have been pity.

 

“fine,” he rasped. soonyoung glimpsed the bouquet of red roses wonwoo had clasped within his slender fingers. his heart clenched.

 

wonwoo swallowed. soonyoung’s eyes trailed the bob of his adam’s apple in his throat, knowing full well what awaited him.

 

“soonyoung-ah...”

 

“ _don’t_ ,” soonyoung gasped, fingernails digging into the tender skin of his palm at the sound of the pet name slipping so easily off of wonwoo’s tongue, familiar yet foreign.

 

“i can’t do this anymore, soonyoung-ah. we’ve been growing apart these past few months, and i believe i’m not the only one who’s noticed. it’s just that i love him. i’ll still help you through this, i just can’t do this any longer. can’t hurt you any longer. can’t hurt us any longer.”

 

 _you’re killing me_ , is what soonyoung wished he could have said.

 

“i love him so much, soonyoung-ssi,” jisoo pleaded. “i’ll take care of him.”

 

 _he’s beautiful_ , was what soonyoung thought. infinitely prettier than himself, with velvety tan skin, soft hazel locks, a slim, petite frame that matched wonwoo’s, and beautiful, beautiful, beautiful gem-studded eyes. jisoo was everything soonyoung wasn’t, and so much more worthy of wonwoo’s affections.

 

“go, please,” soonyoung begged, voice broken and barely audible. “don’t come back.”

 

“soonyoung-ah, you can’t mean that. you’re ill—” wonwoo blurted.

 

“i’ll take care of myself,” soonyoung retorted, a semblance of strength suddenly creeping its way back into his tone. “just like i have for months. you never bothered to show up when i needed you then.”

 

wonwoo looked as if someone had slapped him across the face. jisoo tugged at his jacket sleeve, eager to leave. they’d gotten what they needed.

 

soonyoung was on the front porch the moment wonwoo’s car was out of sight, coughing up innumerable quantities of petals. he collapsed, breathing ragged.

 

he didn’t have much time. he stared wistfully at the red roses in full bloom on the lawn, and recalled every memory sown into the soil.

 

planting the seeds with wonwoo on the first day of spring. plucking weeds with wonwoo on the first day of summer. a chilly picnic with wonwoo on the first day of fall. parting with wonwoo on the first day of winter.

 

soonyoung stood up shakily and retreated into the empty warmth of the living room, suddenly feeling colder than he had ever felt before.

 

* * *

 

_soonyoung wasn’t conscious enough to determine his opinion on roses._

 

kwon soonyoung was twenty-two when he passed away, three in the morning on christmas eve, awoken by a violent coughing fit that had disrupted the oxygen flow to his brain.

 

his pale, lifeless body was found in blood-soaked sheets the next day by his ex-husband jeon wonwoo, who had stopped by to deliver a christmas present. an ambulance had been called, the police, jisoo, anything that could take away his guilt, and all in desperation and in vain.

 

“hanahaki,” the nurse had explained matter-of-factly. “you didn’t know?”

 

“he hid it well,” wonwoo replied coarsely, voice choked with tears. “ _too_ well. he should have let me know, should have seen a doctor for it... i am— _was_ his spouse.” wonwoo was too distracted to notice the absence of jisoo’s comforting hand on the small of his back the moment he had slipped up.

 

“i’m very sorry for your loss, mr jeon.” her tone was robotic, practiced for moments such as this. “it is in mr kwon’s will that he wished to be cremated, and to have his ashes scattered across the ocean. we will see to it within five days.”

 

“there’s a will?”

 

the nurse produced a folded piece of notebook paper from the pocket of her hospital coat. it was vaguely crumpled, with dog-eared corners and crossed-out words here and there.

 

_i, kwon soonyoung, hereby bereave all of my belongings to jeon wonwoo and his spouse, hong jisoo. this includes my house, cat and rose garden._

 

sobs racked wonwoo’s too-skinny frame as his eyes skimmed over the remaining lines of soonyoung’s slanted, untidy script.

 

_don’t let my roses die._

 

_i love you._

 

* * *

 

a week later, wonwoo and jisoo moved into soonyoung’s place. wonwoo couldn’t bear to sell it — with the amount of sentimental value it held for him, it was far more precious than a few million won.

 

two weeks later, jisoo watched wearily through a window as wonwoo painstakingly tended to soonyoung’s withering rose garden.

 

three weeks later, the roses on the lawn had sprouted again. young, green leaves that soonyoung would have gushed over for days.

 

a month later, jisoo began coughing up the very same petals that had bloomed in the garden.

 

wonwoo didn’t know.

**Author's Note:**

> I HOPE YOU ENJOYED :,,
> 
> kudos / comments / bookmarks keep me going!!
> 
> thanks for reading loves <33


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